


THE HEAVY BAG IN THE BASEMENT

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Gen, Protective Eliot Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: Parker disturbs Eliot's workout.After a three month hiatus dealing with what I call Post-Chicken-Pox Syndrome or Shingles-And-Its-Aftermath, I'm diving back into the fanfic pool.  Fans of Leverage, I give you a short story inspired by The Broken Wing Job.I realize this story switches POV quicker than Eliot's left hook but I can't help it.  Can't make it work any other way.  :)





	

In the corner near the single window of what once was a dark, dank basement hangs a black Everlast heavy bag, only four years old… yet so worn and dented it requires duct tape to close rips in its leather skin. Four chains connect it to a swivel joint; a heavier chain suspends it from a support beam. On any given night, it rattles desperately, withstanding an onslaught, at times bent nearly double by the efforts of one Eliot Spencer, stripped to the waist, sweatpants beginning to sag with the weight of moisture from his belly and back running down into the waistband.

He sets the pendulum swinging and dances with it as gracefully as if the worn tiles beneath his feet were a ballroom floor. He circles it, watching intently, for in his mind it isn't a bag. It's as much a man as he is, an enemy out to get him, constantly moving forward and back and around. An adversary. An opponent.

An experienced fighter of many styles, Eliot doesn't strike on the bag's forward swing; that would take his balance and smother his own punches. No, he waits, circling, maintaining the same distance as he moves; his right shoulder forward and the left back, ready to land a power shot. When the time is right, the combinations come fast and hard.

He grins as he works, remembering how Parker always hands him one of her hair ties when on occasion she sees him at the bag; he shakes his head every time, preferring to feel the wet strands along his shoulders. _Anyway_ , he tells her, _what's he gonna do in a fight? Tell the guy to wait while he ties his hair back?_

Once she asked him, _Why don't you just cut it?_

Like the time he refused to discuss _sexting_ with her, he shook his head, refusing to answer. He couldn't tell someone he regarded as a baby sister that the women he slept with preferred it long… or why.

He could hear her light tread on the stairway now. The Bridgeport Brew Pub had been closed for hours; he thought they'd all gone home which is why he chose now to work out. He preferred being alone.

'What are you doing here, Parker?' he rasped, never ceasing his brutal onslaught on the hapless bag.

Parker perched on a corner of Hardison's worktable and watched him for a minute before replying.

'I want you to teach me to do that.'

'Huh?'

'What you're doing. I want you to teach it to me.'

Eliot grabbed the bag to stop its momentum and looked at Parker as if she'd sprouted an eye in the middle of her forehead. He shook his head.

'Look, Parker, I taught you some basic wrestling moves and some self-defense techniques. That's all you need to know. Anything else… I'll be there for ya.'

'But what if you're not.'

'What if I'm not _what_?!'

'What if you're not there when I need you. I might need help sometime and nobody'll be there to help.'

'You got Hardison, Parker.'

'Like I said, nobody'll be there to help.'

He chuckled inwardly _. She had him there._

'Parker… ' Eliot sighed in exasperation. He was cooling down too fast. 'This… this isn't a technique to teach fighting so much as it's a, a physical workout. It builds up my chest and shoulders. You're stronger than most girls… _women_ ,' he hastily corrected, seeing her brows rush toward her nose, 'but still, this just isn't something you need to learn.'

'So you won't train me.'

Eliot's eyebrows vanished upward into the wet hair plastered to his forehead. With the expression of a long-suffering college professor with dense student, he shook his head again, trying mightily to keep his patience. ' _No_. Now, if you don't mind… I wanna finish my workout.'

'Please?' _Maybe the magic word will work_ , thought Parker.

'Parker, _how many times_ do I have to _tell_ you, _NO_!' Eliot's patently patient expression transformed into one designed to strike fear into the hearts of all men.

Parker, immune to that which she'd seen a thousand times, just stared at him, infuriated. She hopped down from the worktable and flounced off. Her normally light tread could be heard stomping up the stairs and even across the floor above. He heard the slam of the front door. All was quiet.

_Finally._

Eliot flung back his cold, wet hair and resumed his workout. He set the bag swinging and began circling again, warming back up. Trying to clear his mind took more effort. Parker swam around and around in his thoughts. _Dammit, Parker_. He knew she'd sulk for a day or two, maybe as long as a week. She wouldn't let it interfere with any jobs they had coming up - he admired that about Parker - but he knew she'd be fuming the whole time.

She didn't realize that just because she could take Hardison down by surprise meant he was going to allow her to do anything to put herself in any danger whatsoever. Parker needed to take a page out of Sophie's book; that genteel lady did her job and talked her way out of trouble. Usually. To an extent, Parker was going to have to do the same thing whether she liked it or not.

Anyway… there was no need for Parker to worry. All joking aside, he knew Hardison would do his best to protect her. So would Nate, for that matter. Even Sophie probably carried a hatpin, should the need arise. He grinned at the thought.

The indisputable fact was, of course, that _none_ of them had any cause to worry. He was their protector. It's what he signed on for. He'd _always_ be there and _nothing_ was going to get past him ---

one hard punch set the bag on an unexpected trajectory; Eliot deftly avoided the collision, striking his opponent's 'kidneys' …

\--- not even a worn-out leather heavy bag.

The sweat was again rolling off his back; his movements were rhythmic and smooth. His mind was right at last. The basement resonated with the rattling of chains and the pounding of the bag for another hour.

Eliot's final punches opened a fresh hole in the patched leather. Time to quit, anyway. He rummaged around in Hardison's worktable drawer for a roll of duct tape and tenderly patched his adversary. He clasped the old bag on each side as if to say, _Good workout. Thanks._

He threw a towel over his shoulder and headed up the stairs. He could shower upstairs at Nate's; sleep on the couch. He and Sophie were out of town, anyway. He gave one more passing thought to Parker's request before he turned out the light on the old bag. It deserved its rest, too.

_Protecting the team. It's what I do. Teaching any one of them to replace me is letting them down._

The End


End file.
